A Breath Away Page 3

  Her gaze slid back to his. “Maybe it is.”

  “I’m a legitimate art dealer.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “I need your help, not your judgment. I can’t share my past with the police, and I’m not telling the NSA any more than they already know.” He rose to pour more coffee. “Are you taking my case or not?” He thought he’d assured himself of her participation by going through Lucas, but maybe he’d been wrong about their bond.

  “I’m going to have to dig deeply into your past.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll have to give me names, dates, places.”

  “The disk contains plenty.”

  “I also want your impressions of people. Not just a scroll of data.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m taking your case.”

  “Thank you.”

  He was going to have to share things he’d rather not. He was going to have to relive times better left buried. He might even have to trust Jade Broussard.

  She didn’t respect him, and obviously abhorred his illegal past. He especially didn’t want to face her judgment, because then he might have to admit that in the black-and-white of the world, he’d spent most of his life in the dark.

  JADE KNEW the idea of sharing didn’t sit well with her client. Well, at least they had that in common.

  Very little else, but they had that.

  “Let’s start with the present. You’re sure the shooting isn’t job-related?”

  “That’s the most logical conclusion.”

  Again, she noted the careful choice of words. He didn’t exactly agree, didn’t answer her question, but he didn’t disagree, either. He kept the flow of conversation going without revealing his thoughts. She’d bet it served him well—in both legal and illegal situations.

  “Have you talked to Hillman?” she asked, expecting him to say he hadn’t.

  When Tremaine nodded, she suppressed her surprise and asked, “What did he say?”

  “What you’d expect—come in from the field, we’ll protect you.”

  “And you said no?” She was trying to picture anybody—even the man next to her—disobeying a direct order from Jordan Hillman, a high-level director at the NSA, who oversaw every active undercover operation and was one of the most secretly powerful men in the country.

  “I said nothing.”

  “Naturally. You’re good at that.”

  “It comes in handy at times.” He slid his hand along the back of the leather sofa they shared. The move was a sinuous caress, one that made her blood hum even as part of her remained professional, observing how well he fit into the contemporary decor of the room, though she was sure he’d look equally at home among oxblood club chairs and gas lanterns.

  He was a dichotomy.

  A mystery she longed to unfold. Much to her frustration.

  “So, he thinks you’re coming in?” she asked in an effort to force her brain to concentrate fully on her job.

  “I imagine he’s figured out by now that I’m not.”

  Great. Talk about a war on multiple fronts. “So we have them after you, too?”

  “No. I’ll call him and tell him I think I have a handle on who’s responsible.”

  “He’ll expect a full report—names, motives, etcetera.”

  “Not from me.”

  What was he holding back? She had little doubt he was only pretending to cooperate. He had an agenda here that went beyond the botched shooting.

  As she was mulling over the possibilities—maybe the shooting was NSA related, and he and Hillman were trying to draw her back into the agency—he reached out and stroked her jaw.

  She jerked back.

  “I wondered if you’d be hard and rough,” he said, seeming unaffected by her retreat. “You’re not. Somehow, you still have compassion and tenderness. I wonder how twelve years at the NSA didn’t stamp it out of you.”

  She was surprised to realize her throat was dry, and her face was warm where he’d touched her. “How do you know I put in twelve years?”

  “I know a lot about you, Jade Katherine Broussard.”

  His silver eyes turned to the color of smoke, and the heat emanating from his body slid around her like a cashmere wrap. There had been times in her life when her spirit had been so cold and lonely she’d have given anything for that sensation.

  But she’d found strength and purpose in her work. She had loyal friends and colleagues and didn’t need anyone to hold her hand when she ran into trouble.

  There were times, though, when she longed for something more. For a relationship like the one her parents had shared. For someone who both understood and challenged her. For white-hot passion that overwhelmed her, burning down the walls she’d so carefully built.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said, leaning toward her.

  She blinked. What had she been thinking? Had she actually been daydreaming in the middle of an interrogation? The man was a client, an admitted thief and probably a master manipulator.

  She ignored his compliment—which was no doubt empty, anyway. “When did you last talk to Hillman?”

  “I called him last night.”

  The chief guy took his call? Another oddity in an already strange case. “You didn’t detour to Washington on your way to Puerto Rico?”

  “No.”

  She planted her boots on the floor and sat forward, her forearms resting on her thighs. “You talked to him? Not his assistant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you said you were pretty much between cases. Just doing a little research. If you’re consulting with the top man, you’re doing a great deal more than that.”

  He said nothing for several moments, then he smiled. “Perhaps I am.”

  “That’s it?” She stayed in her seat and held her temper by the barest margin. “Look, I’ve had about enough of your evasive answers. And your mysterious past doesn’t intrigue me, it annoys me. If we’re going to make this…”

  “Relationship?”

  “…unconventional partnership work, you’ve got to trust me.”

  Still smiling, he shook his head. “Isn’t gonna happen.”

  He trusted no one. She understood, since she felt exactly the same way.

  “But—just so you know—there isn’t a big case or mystery,” he added. “I always work directly with Hillman. That was part of my agreement when I signed on with the NSA.”

  She got over her irritation long enough to be impressed. “Convenient.”

  He shrugged. “Mostly it was a power thing.” Grinning, he added, “I like having it all on my side.”

  The guy wasn’t just slippery good, he was amazing good. He charmed and disarmed, even as he stole your wallet. He worked for the government and still made a profit. “I imagine you do.”

  She stood to pace, as she often did when she was thinking. But tonight she did so because she couldn’t think. He was distracting. His smile, his sleek good looks, his craftiness, even his evasiveness. She’d lied when she’d said his mysterious past didn’t intrigue her.

  In truth, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know all. And more than the professional details. Her body wanted intimate details.

  But her job required her to set aside her curiosity and pretend her senses weren’t completely overwhelmed by the temptation he presented. “Why don’t you want Hillman to know the shooting is part of your past?”

  “I don’t trust him to keep his word and leave my past in the grave where I buried it.”

  She didn’t trust Hillman, either, so her opinion of her client rose a bit. She also respected his intentions to move ahead, away from the criminal life he’d led.

  But she knew she had to hold her sympathy in check. She was intrigued by him, her body wanted him, but she wasn’t sure she really liked him.

  She’d solve his case, take his money and protect her cousin. As long as she kept those distinct objectives in mind, they’d all come out just fine.

  �
�But I’d think you and Hillman would be buddies,” she said, not trying to hide her sarcasm. “Of the same mind and all. You’re the poster boy for trying any means necessary to get the bigger, badder criminal of the moment, after all.”

  “Yes, I imagine that’s his philosophy. I guess you don’t agree.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You guess correctly.”

  “You don’t think the government should make deals with the other side?”

  Well aware he was asking her if she agreed with Hillman’s decision to offer a deal to him in particular, she refused to soften her stance. “No, I don’t.”

  “Leopards don’t change their spots.”

  “Not in my experience.”

  He simply nodded.

  During her NSA career, she’d been appalled by some of the arrangements made with midlevel criminals in order to bring down their bosses. The idea that justice was negotiated in a boardroom, and that any wrongdoing could be wiped out by ratting out somebody else, was abhorrent to her.

  Tremaine had benefited from such an agreement, which she’d always resented. What had precipitated his change of sides? And why had he taken the government’s deal in the first place?

  To save his own hide, most likely, though he did nothing now to defend himself. What was up with him? And why did she have to be so damn interested in digging beneath the surface?

  “So, that’s the present—at least professionally. But we haven’t talked about the personal present. Friends and lovers.” She watched his expression, hoping he’d squirm. “Anybody there have it in for you?”

  “Like if I slept with my best friend’s wife?”

  Given his lothario reputation, she certainly wouldn’t be surprised, but somehow she didn’t see the man before her putting himself in that position. He’d be selective about his bed partners, and he’d consider all the options and consequences before taking that step.

  What else about him had been exaggerated?

  “Yeah, like that,” she said finally.

  “I don’t have a best friend, so no.”

  Her pulse jumped. How did he manage to get to her that way? She cleared her throat. “So now that we’ve covered the present, it’s time for the past.”

  She could have sworn she saw him flinch, but he recovered quickly.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling with the easy charm that seemed as natural to him as breathing. “But before we do, I think it’s important that we explore our unexpected connection.”

  “What unexpected connection?”

  “The fact that I’d much rather get you in bed than investigate my own shooting.” As she ground to a halt, he raised his eyebrows, looking inviting as sin. “I assume the sentiment is returned?”

  3

  JADE FOUGHT TO ignore her rapid heartbeat. She forced herself to drag clean air into her lungs, to expel it and to calm her erotic thoughts.

  She failed miserably.

  Instead, she imagined her client’s body beneath her, his erection pressed against the pulsing need between her legs.

  They’d been that close a short time ago, but now she envisioned their clothes disappearing. His body would be hard and sleek. Ripples of need and heat would surge through her. His hands would pleasure her beyond her wildest dreams. She’d satisfy an itch she didn’t even know she had until she’d met him.

  “It hardly matters if we want each other,” she said, humiliated to find herself breathless. “We’re both professionals, so we’re not going to do anything about it.”

  He smiled, his gaze locking with hers. “Aren’t we?”

  As he rose and started toward her, she froze. She ordered her feet to move, but they didn’t. The look in his eyes needed no explanation as to his intent, and though the professional remained lurking inside her—the one usually front and center—the desire rolling through her body was overwhelming her instincts.

  When he stopped in front of her, he cupped her cheek in his hand and angled her face toward him. “If you’re going to shoot, shoot to kill, because I’m not backing away.”

  Then his lips were on hers, persuasive and demanding, but still soft. Her heartbeat accelerated as he slid his tongue inside her mouth, drawing her more deeply beneath his spell, causing the final vestiges of restraint to fall away.

  She pressed her body against his, molding herself to the hard planes of his chest, his hardened penis against her stomach. Desire pooled between her legs.

  Inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne, she let him lead her to hunger and need, to fan the flames of their attraction and send the temperature from simmering to red-hot.

  He was a virtual stranger, not to mention a client, and she watched herself from a distance, not really believing she was touching him and letting him touch her in return. She felt energized in his arms. And exhilarated. And safe.

  It was the thought of safety that brought reality crashing back.

  She was supposed to be protecting him. She was supposed to solve his case, help him get his life back under control, then send him on his way.

  She wrenched herself out of his arms. Breathing hard, she held out her hand. “We can’t do this.”

  He grabbed her hand and jerked her against him. “I sure as hell don’t see any reasons not to.”

  “Sure you do. You’re just ignoring them.”

  “Sex releases tension.”

  “Sex complicates.”

  “You don’t like complications?”

  “No, and I don’t have sex with clients.”

  “Is that a hard and fast rule, or just a guideline?”

  She braced her feet apart and glared at him. “Don’t make me prove I can take you down anytime I want to, Tremaine.”

  “Back to last names, are we? Maybe I should prove how quickly I can have you moaning—even screaming—my name.”

  “Dream on.”

  “How about I demonstrate instead?”

  Bang, bang, bang.

  They jumped apart and darted toward the door.

  “Room service!” came the cry from the hall.

  Jade had her Beretta in her hand as she positioned herself against the wall next to the door. “You order anything?”

  “No.”

  Her client had drawn a small pistol—from his ankle holster, no doubt—and took his place behind her. “Surely I’m not being stalked by someone with bad aim and a complete absence of originality. Room service,” he added in disgust.

  Jade silently agreed, though she was pretty sure she recognized their waiter’s voice. She peered through the peephole and did, indeed, see David Washington and Mo Leger. They waved.

  Stifling an eye roll, she said, “They’re mine,” then holstered her weapon and opened the door.

  “Hey, boss,” David said, saluting. Tan, handsome and lean, his six-foot-six body was way too long for the waiter’s uniform he wore.

  Mo—every bit as tall, plus considerably heavier and darker—pushed a white-tablecloth-covered cart into the suite. He’d opted for a maintenance man’s gray jumpsuit. “You might wanna hold back lookin’ through the peephole, Chief. We coulda blasted you.”

  “I recognized your voice,” Jade said with a trace of annoyance. Because of their sense of timing? She didn’t want to go there.

  She supposed it was too much to expect these two to stop treating their cases like elaborate games. But of course, to men like David and Mo—and probably Remington Tremaine, as well—chasing the bad guys was a game. One they played with deadly seriousness at times, but one they still found humor and enjoyment in.

  She wished she could say she still had fun. Somewhere she’d lost the fire and passion, though she never considered doing anything else. It was all she knew and all she had.

  After she made introductions among the men, David asked Tremaine, “So, you’re NSA?”

  When Tremaine hesitated to confirm, Jade said, “If you want our help, my people have to have information. I told them what was in your dossier.
”

  “What little you have?”

  “Keep it up, Mr. Fancy-art-dealer, and I’ll find your would be assassin just so I can swear my allegiance to him.”

  Mo and David gave her strange looks—she couldn’t recall a time they’d seen her banter with a client—so before their curiosity got the best of them, she said, “His trouble isn’t about a case. It’s about his former profession.”

  Hell, she’d kissed the man and guilt—or attraction or weakness—already had her glossing over the fact that he used to take other people’s stuff for a living.

  “Sit down, and I’ll fill you in,” she added.

  “Over breakfast,” David said.

  Jade glanced at the cart. “You brought food?”

  Mo and David exchanged smiles. “Among other things.”

  OTHER THINGS turned out to be computers, surveillance equipment and instruments Remy couldn’t begin to identify.

  He was only marginally competent with computers, but he certainly recognized the weapons, ammunition clips, binoculars and communications devices—including headsets, microphones, cameras and bugs. But there were also black boxes that lit up or emitted a series of beeps, a control that looked suspiciously like a detonator and handheld wands that might be lasers.

  If somebody had told him he was going to learn to swing a light saber, he wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

  While he used technology to his advantage on occasion, his strength was his ability to get personal, to read body language, to discern the significance of expressions and reactions. He liked touching things and people. Reading an electronic gauge or tracking some blip on a radar screen held no appeal for him.

  Mo, however, was clearly in his element. As he checked out the information on the disk Remy had provided, his walnut-colored hands commanded a laptop keyboard the way the best teenage techno-geek could only dream of doing. Since he was extremely fierce-looking, the thought of him as a geek made Remy smile.

  Remy’s amusement faded when his gaze slid to Jade, leaning over David’s shoulder as she pointed to one of the mysterious black boxes on the dining room table. His attraction—correction, his overwhelming need—was interfering with the case. As much as he’d looked forward to finally meeting her, he hadn’t anticipated that complication.